Gotham and Her Talon
by deathvalley101
Summary: Rachel had been ten at the time. When her parents had fell and she'd stood there, numb to the core, as she watched. Then her great-great-grandfather, William Cobb, had appeared and taken her away. (Part of my AU: Deep Claws. (1/?) T because I'm paranoid. Eventual Rachel x Jason. Female Dick - Rachel.)
1. Chapter 1: The Bat and the Owl

This is so hard. I know what I want to write but i just can't write it the way I want to though I feel I did alright on this one. / Anyway, my uploading schedule is one chappie at the end of a month so don't be expecting one soon.

Disclaimer: I don't own DC.

 **Note: Updated as of 2.6.18.**

 **oOoOoOo**

 **Chapter 1: The Bat and the Owl**

 **oOoOoOo**

When Batman first saw the familiar glint of sharpened knives smothered in shadows, he'd briefly panicked. For one reason, it was behind him and the only reason he'd seen it was because he'd been inspecting a batarang for dents (he'd threw it earlier in an attempt to get Poison Ivy but it had been deflected into a wall.) And the second reason, he was standing up on the twelfth level of Wayne Tower, blending in smuggly with the looming gargoyles, and frankly no one should be up there and behind him.

Keeping his breathing even, Batman had waited for the glints to move or shift, to give any indication that the figure was moving, but none came. Instead, staying buried in the shadows until Alfred called him over the Comm Link, saying something about an attempted break-in on 33rd street, and he'd grappled away, downtown.

Silently, as he grappled onto another building to land in a roll, Batman pulled out the batarang, feeling satisfaction when it glinted menacingly in the brief light the smog allowed the moon, and watched with rising curiosity as the Shadow staggered out and climbed up to what seemed to be a space between the twelfth and fourteenth floors.

The sealed thirteenth floor.

He made a mental note to check that out, sooner than later.

 **oOoOoOo**

Twelve days later, dodging a rolling can of Joker's laughing gas, Batman ignored but filed away the glint of knives hiding in the shadows just to his left incase they (or, it) attacked any time soon.

Thirty minutes later, with an unconscious Joker lying at his feet, Batman looked over to the shadowed alley which had held the glint of knives but found nothing but garbage and rats staring back out at him.

 **oOoOoOo**

The third time he'd seen it he'd gotten the full image of what it was. A dagger, embellished with a golden owl-shaped hilt. It was pinned through a local druggies chest, keeping him against the wall.

He'd been dead for hours.

His heart ripped out.

 **oOoOoOo**

Nineteen days later, Batman thought that grappling from building to building made him feel a certain ounce of adrenaline he didn't feel as Bruce Wayne.

Maybe that was why he enjoyed being a vigilante so much, or maybe it was the satisfaction he got when he took down a particularly hard enemy or maybe it was the thrill of something new happening.

Like the knife with a golden owl embroidered handle that flew out from nowhere and suddenly cut his line in half. It sent his adrenaline higher than grappling ever could. Although, it left him free falling for a few feet before he got over his shock and pulled out his other grapple and, with a grunt, hooked onto the next building.

He saw the knife embed itself in the dark grey wall of the building his line had been adjacent with and made a mental note to get it later because suddenly Alfred's voice came over the Comm to say Scarecrow was laughing about some master plan outside Gotham PD and Commissioner Gordon was five minutes away from an aneurysm.

When he returned, two hours later with Scarecrow knocked out and on his merry way to Arkham, - supposed master plan successfully averted and stopped - the knife was gone. Nothing but a thin hollow hole in the dusty bricks to say that it had ever been there.

 **oOoOoOo**

He seen it a fifth time, on a brisk spring evening.

This time he went after it, catching it by surprise as it jerked and scrambled away, throwing a few more daggers which his cape only just deflected.

 **oOoOoOo**

Batman never did explore the sealed thirteenth floor or that shadow, until he found it was too late.

Now, as Bruce Wayne stiffened at the feather light tap of at blade on his neck, he wished Batman had paid more attention to it. Suddenly, without the fluttering of overturned papers (courtesy of his desk that had been tipped in his surprise) his personal study seemed eerily silent. Expect, of course, for Bruce's heartbeat in his ears.

Now, Bruce Wayne stared down the gold and grey armoured thing standing just behind him, only visible by its reflection in his window. He inwardly cursed.

By all appearances it looked deadly, from the sharp claws to its pointed goggle tips that sat on its horrifying mask.

Bruce was pretty sure it was an assasin. He wasn't too worried about that though, he'd dealt with his fair share of them (Ra's and Talia being two easy to name ones). What was worrying was that this one (unnamed to his annoyance) had gotten past over twelve layers of decripted security codes, mulitiple cameras and too many other things to make him happy.

 **"Bruce Wayne,"** The voice was hoarse and raspy but if he searched, Bruce swore he could hear a feminine lilt to it. **"You've interfered. The Court had sentenced you to die."**

Bruce tried to shift, to do anything, something, but froze when the thing hissed in warning. He wasn't even sure if it was human. It certainly didn't look it. He had no idea how this thing had snuck up on him.

He felt and seen the thing behind him tilt its head. He realised it was, quite possibly, enjoying this.

The sardonic lick to the voice confirmed his suspicions and he rethought his plan of not hitting the panic button - he could, at least, warn them but they probably wouldn't understand till it was too late for them. **"Last words, Bat?"**

Bruce suddenly felt sick, _if this thing knew who he was then- he'd worked so hard to--_

It must've seen his panic for it let out a maniac cackle that made him shiver and seemed to rock back and forth on its feet as it playfully hushed him, running a cold, slim ( if was definitely female) hand down his cheek. **"Hush, hush. No tell, no tell. Words?"**

He swallowed carefully, mindful of the knife that was suddenly pressed harder against his pale throat, and pushed down the surging panic and fear that was threatening to show. "What are you?" He felt like it was the best question, even if he could've worded it better.

The thing's thinly veiled twitch almost rammed the knife into his exposed flesh.

He made a metal note that his antagonist couldn't take antagonism. Out if the corner of his eye he realised he could just about make out the handle of the dagger.

It had an embroidered gold owl. He mentally frowned, that was the exact same knife that had cut Batman's line not three weeks ago and the one that had been in the druggies corpse.

 **"Talon."** Talon seemed giddy now and Bruce deduced that this 'Talon' wasn't in the best mental place. What disturbed him more was that Talon seemed to coo like an owl before speaking again.

 **"Beware the Court of Owls.**

 **Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch,**

 **Behind granite and lime.**

 **Watch yourself,**

 **Or they may come.**

 **Play nice,**

 **For they lurk under your bed**

 **And in your head.**

 **Beware the Court of Owls,**

 **For they'll send the Talon for your head."**

And then Talon was gone. Vanished with the echo of a cold, hard cackle. Nothing but a wisp of wind left behind in his otherwise empty study.

Suddenly, Bruce was very happy that Alfred was on holiday.

 _Seems that the Court of Owls isn't as much a fairytale as Gotham thinks it to be._

He beelined it for the Cave. Maybe it was time to update security.

 **oOoOoOo**

The next time the Talon showed up, Batman and Bruce were both ready.

The thing had decided to lurk in his mansion's shadows while it subtly stalked him and upon seeing the tell-tale swish and glint of metal Bruce had went into Batman mode. Idly pulling a Batarang from his belt - after feeling a brief surge of thankfulness he'd decided to keep a few in his civvies - Bruce bent his knees and swished around in a circle, shouting. "Come out, now!"

The far corners shadow twitched and black clothed arms with golden punches of armour here and there raised weakly, before Talon came out of the shadows, hunched over as if it were about to drop dead. **"Bat o...or Bruce?"**

Bruce thought the question over quickly, confusion surging through him at the mere sight of the assassin. "Bru--"

He was cut off as it winced. **"Bat. Be Bat. We no kill.. no.."** Talon broke off into a coughing fit as its arms hurled down back to its body. One to its mouth and the other to its side. It took a sickening gasp of air. **"..no kill Bat. Forced to.. Wayne."**

 _It was injured._ Bruce realised with startling accuracy and everything fell into place. In the Talon's mind, Bruce Wayne and Batman were different people and it had only been told to kill one, not the other. "Yes, I'm Batman." He said, taking on his persona's gravelly voice for extra effect. He felt a tidbit of satisfaction when the Talon sighed and slumped, leaning against the wall as it slid down it to sit on the floor.

It pulled it's goggled mask off to reveal a pale young girl. She was far too pale to be safe, with blackened veins running up the sides of her face that disappeared down the collar of her suit, down her neck, and her golden eyes were slitted tiredly. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp for air but she only got halfway before breaking into a coughing fit which forced her to drag her once limp arm up to cover her mouth. Bruce swore mentally when she removed it and he spotted a trickle of black blood dribble down to her chin while she plopped her head onto the wall, looking exhausted and older than her years.

 _He had to help her._

Raising his arms he slowly stalked forward. "I can help you," He made sure to speak softly as to not scare her but it didn't seem as if she was listening to him anymore. "Can you tell me what happened?"

She rolled her head to the side where she gave him a tilted, sickly stare. **"Court angry. Failed to kill..."** She broke off into a cough that forced her hand to her mouth again. She stared at it miserably when she stopped a5nd pulled it back, licking the black blood from the line it had dribbled into. **"Failed. Wayne target. Failed to execute. Court angry. So.. pain."**

Something clicked and Bruce swore mentally again, going into Bat mode. "Can I approach you?"

The girl glanced at him, unfocused eyes honing in on the only source of movement.

 **"Yess."** Her voice slurred differently from how it had been earlier and Batman stepped forward cautiously.

"What's your name?"

She didn't even blink. **"Talon."**

For some reason pain welled up in his chest when the girl said that, but that wasn't what he wanted for an answer so he tried again. "No. Your real name."

This time she blinked fuzzily at him before her forehead creased in thought and she took on a pained look. **"Don't... We don't..."** Her head plopped down as she whined and Bruce felt sick that the girl didn't know who she _was_. She didn't know her own _name_. **"Don't have. Don't have. Don't. No. Me Talon. Talon."** Her eyes snapped open as she lurched forward. Her eyes glittered gold as a maniac glint filled them. She spluttered and slumped back against the wall, marking a trail of black blood down it. **"Talon."**

Avoiding the touchy subject Batman linked the information together.

She'd failed to kill Bruce Wayne. So, she'd went back to the Court and they had… _punished_ her?

It wasn't much to go on, or make sense with her recent actions, but it was all he could link together right now with the evidence. "Will you heal?"

Her gasps for air suddenly stopped and her head tilted to the side in a mocking gesture as her mouth slid into a dangerous grin, showing off sharp canines. She gave a harsh cackle. **"Run Bat for they have found you."**

Her voice turned raspy and hoarse, like the time she'd threatened Bruce Wayne. She started humming. **"Trapped Bat! Trapped Bat!"**

He didn't even get to process that before the window smashed inwards, too many Talon's to count jumping through.

A scorching pain seared through his head and he seen darkness.


	2. Chapter 2: Maze of Marble

I'm proud to say, that I've finally wrote out an outline for this story to aid me in my monthly updates (don't be expecting any sooner) and honestly I am over the moon. I'd like to thank everyone for their nice comments and I did take them into consideration and I'm still fishing for more. I thank you all anyway and you might see a hint of some ideas meantioned in this book in general. Thank you!!

Honestly I don't know how long Bats was stuck in the maze but since this isn't canon who cares!? This chapter might also be a bit crazy and it jumps a lot so bare with me, the ones after this won't be as bad. Just have to set the scene. For what? I don't know.

Disclaimer: Listen, if you think I own DC -- you're wrong. I would've made the Bat family much scarier. Hehehe...hint hint.

 **Notes: Updated as of 2nd of June, 2018.**

 **oOoOoOo**

 **Chapter 2: Maze of Marble**

 **oOoOoOo**

He woke up face to face with and gleaming white floor that smelt like sewage.

His first thought to that was; _shit._ The second; _who the hell changed_ _me?_ Becasue he was wearing his batsuit and he was pretty sure he hadn't been before. That and it felt weird, like it had been tugged onto him rather than fitted on with the machines.

 _The window smashed inwards, too many Talons to count jumping through. Searing pain in_ _his head._ The female Talon had played him like a fiddle and he'd been clueless the entire time.

They'd knocked him out with a hit to the head if his headache said anything. Which meant he couldn't fall asleep anythime soon, just to be sure he didn't have a concussion. (He didn't think he'd be sleeping anytime soon anyway.)

His cowl was on and he felt safer with the Bat Computer connected lenses in it so he had no woes about standing and looking around himself. The lenses (they were in the cowls eyes but he was now also working on contacts to wear outside of the suit.) would analyse everything anyway (being connected to the Bat Computer as they were which fed them all the information they needed).

The lenses were working but without some sort of connection he was clueless as to where he was. They didn't need a connection to actually _work_ just to give information sourced from the computer. He could still use them to pick up on the smaller details.

He wasn't called a detective for nothing.

Judging from the distinct smell of sewage and the marble he assumed he was near (or, _in_ ) the sewers and far away from civilisation. The marble looked to stretch and twist for yards. He was in a maze. And if he had to make an educated guess, he guessed he was in the Courts Maze.

He knew that didn't bode well for him. If he didn't die of starvation or dehydration, insanity or a Talon would get him first. From his current track record he could safely say a Talon would probably get him first.

The marble was bright but the sheen was dulled a tad by his lenses, allowing him to see a few feet into the adjoining corridors that extended out from the circular room he was in. It all seemed to be made out of white marble, with a huge statue of an owl standing in the middle of the eccentric room. It's wings were flared defensively and its beak opened to unleash a constant, steady stream of water that according to his lenses scans contained hallucinogenics.

He had actually been captured by _the_ Court of the Owls.

His instincts kicked and screamed at him, saying this wasn't a good idea to stand in the open. There was tok much at stake to stand around where they could see him. He knew how to survive in shadows, he had veen for years as Batman, so now was no different.

Setting off on the furthest passageway to the left, with his cape licking soothingly at his heels and wrapping around him, Batman resolved he'd get out of the labyrinth.

 _Even if it killed him._

He had a city to save after all.

 **oOoOoOo**

It didn't take him long - three days, if his lenses digital clock was true (he regretted not adding a date to the display as well, he'd add that _when_ he got back) - to find the room of photos.

It was a small boxy room. With walls lined with endless photos marking and showing the people before him, how they'd lost themselves to the insanity the fountain offered, how they lost their reasons to live and just gave up. It smelt of damp and death. It disturbed him and Batman had wandered onto the next corridor as soon as possible.

He tried to ignore the flash of light that came from another camera as he stalked out, it surprised him and had him slamming sidewards into the darkened corner.

A quick glance back had him seeing a second one for him pop up, the others had at least fifteen so he knew he was fine for now. They all looked to go insane around the ten or eleven day mark. Batman knew he'd last longer than that. He had to.

It was there and then, hunched in a darkened corner, Batman promised himself - if not for him, then for Alfred, Gotham, the Justice League (if it came down to it) - that he wouldn't die there.

 **oOoOoOo**

Five days in he stumbled upon a fork in the current corridor he'd decided to explore. An arrow of black blood marked the way left.

 _Blackish blood dribbled from her mouth._

Scowling, he turned around and explored the next corridor.

 **oOoOoOo**

He felt like crying as he gazed at his reflection in the water. He'd torn hjs mask after falling over at the sudden surprise of a camera flash, his cape was torn and stretched after he'd caught it on a chipped piece of marble and the kevlar felt sweaty.

He looked like a druggie who'd went too long without a fix.

He looked like he'd fallen down a hole and had given up hope of climbing back out.

Batman wondered how long it had been. Was Alfred home yet? Or had Gotham already crashed and burned? Was this even real? He ended that train of thought where it was, narrowing his eyes at his depressing thoughts. He watched as his one white masked eye and other ripped unmasked, bloodshot eyes narrowed as one. The dehydration and starvation was getting to him.

His gaze drifted to just the rippling, sparkling clear water that was - _confirmed traces of hallucinogenics. WARNING: Do not drink._

God, he was so thirsty.

A little sip.

Just a little...

It couldn't.

It wouldn't.

Just a _little._

He shoveled his gloved hands (he wouldn't dare let go of his gauntlets, not in this place) into the clear, clean water ( _oh god, yes!)_ and gulped it eagerly down, relishing the feeling of the cool water rushing down his _so, so_ dry throat. Done and feeling fine he slinked off back to the shadows.

Where _they_ couldn't see him.

 **oOoOoOo**

He should've known ( _no,_ he thinks absently staring at a chip in the marble from his current shadow. _I knew. I just didn't care.)_ that the water was drugged because almost immediately after, he started seeing the hallucinations.

They started off as nothing more than brief flashing glimpses of Alfred, beckoning, calling (sometimes screaming, looking so pain stricken it physically hurt him to see) for him to come home but then they grew bigger. They grew and grew until he could see the Justice League tutting at him for failing so terribly, until he could see and hear his mother's pearls running down the sides of the scarcely lit corridors where he hid. They vanished down fake, made up drains in the wals or floors. That didn't stop the heart wrenching pain of the memories, it couldn't stop him as he growled at the surfaces and ( _sometimes just sometimes_ ) screamed and punched and kicked at them until he collapsed back into a corner.

He didn't like this.

Not one bit.

So when he came across that now flaky and dried, black blood arrow he stared at the direction it went in and sat down. He felt like he was waiting for something or someone but he didn't really care anymore. He just didn't want to walk into another room to be greeted with the flash of an ancient camera that should've stopped working years ago, to be reminded his pictures were nearly halfway. (He would've yanked them off the wall and burnt them but he'd already done that three times and they kept coming back.)

All the pictures stopped at the same spot, which gave Batman a sick feeling because if his calculations were right (they usually were) that meant no one had lasted over two months in this hell hole.

And that... That scared him.

He would've laughed at the irony.

The Big Bad Bat was scared.

Scared to die.

Though he didn't dare tell himself he might, could, if he tried, live longer than the rest because he wasn't sure he wanted to.

 **oOoOoOo**

He'd been there for over two and a half weeks. He wasn't too sure on that though. Batman had made it a point to make off the hours, about a day in, with tally marks in the underside of his gauntlet. He'd been dedicated too, watching the clock closely, setting timers, keeping notes for how long he napped. But somewhere a week in he'd gotten messy (it had been the water) and the scratches had all blurred into a big scratch. He'd given up after that.

Eventually he ran into the arrow again after too long of screaming at the cameras and going in circles. Deciding the worst that could happen was death (even that would be a blessing right about now) he followed it.

What it led to made him want to gag. It had to be the cruelest most disturbing thing yet. Far surpassing the flashes of light from cameras over 50 years old, running straight past the falling pearls and even worse than his horrifyingly dead looking reflection.

It led to death embodied.

It led to a room of **coffins.**

Batman felt his insides twist when he saw her. Sitting on a coffin at the far edge of the huge room close to the middle: pale skin with black veins standing out like light against the dark with the dead look in her cerculean blue eyes rivalling his own. It was the female Talon. Onky now she looked worse, sick and tired and close to becoming suicidal if not already.

Upon seeing him she perked up, tilting her head tiredly and standing and jolting in a poor mockery of a bow. He strode forward, meeting her dead on, a few feet from the oak coffin that sat with half of itself open. He assumed it was hers. (Disgust and anger boiled within him, that was just _wrong_. To make people, even Talons, sleep in coffins.)

He made no move to speak, waiting for her to react and after a few minutes she did. She blinked at him, her pupils contracting with hate as she hissed. "Weeks ago. The arrows were there, why you take sl long?"

Batman blinked at her and winced when his bloodshot eyes gave a twinge of complaint. The coldness of the room didn't help, instead making them water. He couldn't flunk this, so he finally said after a moment of thought, "I was exploring my options."

The Talon gave him a look of dead amusement, her pupils expanding in postive emotions, but it was wiped from her face in an instant. She gazed at him blankly again. "We'll deal. You want free? We'll free."

His insides contracted painfully and his stomach rumbled silently, sending vibrations through his weakening body. It reminded him how hungry he was, how he'd been surviving by drinking a pool of water he'd found in a dark corner only surviving disease by using his water purifying straw. Batman desperately wanted to agree but years of paranoia kept him back, she'd said it was a deal. That meant she wanted something out of it too. He doubted she was doing it from the good of her heart.

"What's your price?" He rasped. He really was desperate, he supposed. At this point he'd probably give up a limb. Which was either good planing on her behalf or just sheer luck he'd been this run down when he'd followed the damned arrow.

"Kill me, after you fly."

He hadn't even taken a second to think, nevermind process that, before he was nodding. "Of course."


	3. Chapter 3: Take Me Home

Chapter 3? Am I reading this right...oh my gosh wow. This is the longest ever chaptered book I've ever done. I'll just pat myself on the back now *tries to reach and can't* uhm, nevermind. Anyway I'd like to thank all you readers who are following and/or favouriting I luv chu all.

 **Disclaimer:** Must I say the horrifying truth? ...I don't own DC or Batsy or Robin or...anybody. Shame. **I own the plot though. (** Suggestions and ideas are all welcome, comment if you have any please.

 **Note: Updated as of 2.6.18**

 **oOoOoOo**

 **Chapter 3: Take Me Home**

 **oOoOoOo**

When Clark had gotten word of Bruce being attacked in his own house, he'd shot straight past scared for the Bat's wellbeing to honest-to-gosh _terrified._ If there was anything that could get past Batman's obsessive security measures it was something dangerous.

About a week into Bruce Wayne's kidnapping (of course Alfred had covered it up so that he'd conviently went on a business trip for possibly a few months so no one but he and the Founders knew, the only thing missing from the rouse was that there was no Batman and crime had climbed in Gotham) the Daily Planet caught news of the Drake's holding a fancy fundraiser ball that somehow they'd been cleared for one of their reporters to go although they all knew the Drakes just wanted attention. And Clark, as apparently he'd been shifty lately, had been sent to go.

Finding it the perfect opportunity to go see Alfred as plain old _Clark Kent, The Daily Planet reporter_ , he went. It had been fancy, extravagant and loud but he felt he'd handled it well. Especially when a young, inexperienced waiter had dropped the six layer celebrationary cake that had no doubt cost a fortune that Bruce would've scoffed at had he been there (and he would've been _. Everyone_ invited Mr Wayne.) In the end, Mrs Drake had had a fit that could've rivaled the Dark Knight's temper. At least it gave him a story.

The fundraiser otherwise had been filled with shifty people (it made him wonder if he'd been like that all week) and Clark had immediately escaped as soon as it was over. Alfred hadn't been surprised to find him standing at the gates either, if his sigh and almost resigned tone was anything to go by. Clark could even say he had possibly been expecting him. No doubt thanks to the sensors planted all over Gotham connected to the Bat Computer. He really hated that thing sometimes. "The gates will be opening now, please step back as to not impale yourself."

The mansion was as luxurious as ever, everything sparkling and shiny. Untouched. Alfred stood in the hallway, arms crossed with his wrinkle free steam pressed suit soaking uo the light from the grand chandelier hanging above him. It gave him an ethereal sort of look that rivaled Batman when he was looking diabolical. "What can I do for you, Mister Kent?"

Clark stopped and tried to offer a smile but it fell short on the smile department and ended up in the grimace one. "I was at the Drake's fundraiser for the Planet just there. I thought I'd pop by. See how things are."

Alfred looked at him like a tiger sizing up a mouse and instantly Clark knew why Bruce liked Alfred. "I thank you for the visit but I'm afraid I'm very busy. It was a nice visit and I thank you--"

Interrupting Alfred was a death threat but he did it anyway. "Superman could patrol Gotham in favour of the Bat if you'd like." He said a tad too rushed to be considered calm. Inwardly, he scolded himself.

Alfred's look was sharp and it would surely haunt his dreams for years to come. "I thank you, Mister Kent, but _no thank you_. Gotham Police are doing their job, as they should. And Gotham will stand firm until the Bat returns and most importantly, _I_ will stand by Master Bruce's rules. _Goodbye,_ _Mister Kent_."

"But, I-" He was given an icy glare. He gave up forming an excuse. "Goodbye, Alfred."

He could see a veiled threat when it was one.

Falling back onto Superman's speed he was out the door and heading back to Metropolis in the blink of an eye.

 **oOoOoOo**

Batman followed the Talon as she stumbled her way through passageway after passageway until finally he seen the first ounce of natural daylight in weeks.

He was out, finally. _He was out_.

 _Alfred._

He needed to get to Alfred, _now_.

 _He had to protect his home, his city_ , _his safe little haven that he'd created in his time of darkness._

The Talon stopped at the end of the passageway that led into the sewers, staring expectantly at him. Unsure of what to do, he stared back at the goggled mask that was radiating cold disaffection. The girl had put it back on once he'd agreed to her terms. He'd been fine with it at first, but now it just made him twitchy.

"You agreed." The Talon clicked, gesturing to the sewer in a wide wave of her arm before placing her hands on her hips and tilting them to look menacing. "Fulfil agreement, Bat."

A sinking feeling filled him and he felt as if his body was made of stone. Yes, he _could_ kill her but killing wasn't in his ways like it was for her and she looked young. Like she had her whole life ahead of her. He didn't want to cut _that_ short.

"I have a few more things for you to do before I carry out our deal, Talon." He said instead, trying to salvage the conversation before it got out of hand.

Talon sighed and tilted it's head in a mocking way. "Yes?"

This was the perfect opportunity. "Tell me your real name and take off your mask permanently." It was dirty and underhanded but there was no other way around it. If he wanted to help this girl, which he did, he had to take baby steps.

Annoyance and confusion filtered through her body language but the Talon did as it was told.

Pulling its mask off cleanly resulted in an unruly mop of tangled, ebony hair flowing free. Batman could say for sure it had to reach to her kneecaps.

He wondered how she shoved it all into that mask.

Her eyes, still a dull blue, had brightened at the sudden light and flashed a quick gold before turning into a soft ocean blue. The only thing Batman could safely say was that she looked better than she had in that room. "Am Talon."

The same response as before, this was where Batman didn't want to mess up. She claimed to be Talon but maybe, _just maybe_ , she thought of herself like she thought the Bat and Bruce Wayne. "What's _her_ name?"

The Talon's eyes widened, flashing a stunningly iridescent gold, before a grin broke out on her face and she giggled. It was the first thing close to a laugh that didn't sound insane. In her sudden fit of mirth (Batman wondered if this was healthy) she started laughing properly as she bent double, her thins arms wrapping around her tiny waist as she sucked in air in a desperate attempt to gain ground.

"He knows," She whispered with a feral sort of glee that made Batman want to tense, his finely tuned instincts kicking in. Thanks to his self-control he managed to restrict the responce to a mere finger twitch. "He knows. He knows! Bat wishes for name. Name. Name!"

She was bouncing on her heels now as happiness took over her features and before Batman knew it she was lunging towards him. Engulfing him in a huge, tiptoed hug. Now only shaking from joy or something else, Batman didn't know.

"We's calls her Rachel Grayson," Her arms went limp suddenly from where they'd been hooked around his neck and Batman found his tired arms shooting up in some hidden parental instinct, to slip under her to keep her up. Her next words where a whisper filled with so much terror it made both Batman and Bruce want to punch whoever hurt her. "But..they's call her...Grayson."

A growl bubbled from the back of her throat and Batman felt it vibrate as her head landed limply on his one good shoulder. (Somewhere aling the line he'd scratched the other one and now, as it stung like hell had spat on it, he suspected it was infected.) "We no like that name. So, Rachel. Call me," Her voice broke as she attempted a better string of words. "Call me, Rachel."

Batman nodded as he shifted her dead weight into his good hip. "Alright then, Rachel, which way?"

He liked this kid. He liked her a lot and honestly she reminded him of himself when he was younger. Lost and alone with no one to guide her.

He felt Rachel smile through the now thinned neck kevlar as she snuggled her face into his neck, going completely lax in his grip and leaning into him. She did look young, maybe 15 or 16. She was Romanian too, if the recognisable yet faded tan said anything. "Left, right, left, left, right, right, left. Then you're home."

 _Thank you_ , he thought as he managed to rub her back as he cradled her closer to his chest. Making sure to keep a good hold on her so she didn't fall. He'd help her if it was the last thing he did. _Hopefully, someday, it will be yours too._

She deserved to live. She had a _right_ to.

And he was sure the villains wouldn't mind him getting a partner, he'd just have to keep an eye out for Alfred.

 **oOoOoOo**

When the security system for the manor's sewer connection gate blinged at Alfred when he sat down in the black leather chair in the Cave he was sure it was a glitch. No one knew of that door and it was well out of the way of the mainstream sewer tunnels.

It had to be a rat.

 _Yes, a rat._ Until Master Bruce's voice came over the comm link for that very door and Alfred - along with the bats resting overhead - nearly had a heart attack.

Bruce's voice was scratchy and raspy and despite his effort he sounded very tired. "Alfred, I need a tea, medical treatment and the maps of Gotham's entire sewer system now. Old and new. Oh, and open this damn door before that rat that's eyeing us decides to pounce and rips my goddamned cape even more."

Alfred would've scolded the younger man he saw as a son for his manners but no one else was there. With the Justice League stiffly awaiting him to crack under pressure (yet keeping their distance, there was a reason _he_ was still Batman and Bruce Wayne's butler) Afred sort of wished they had been there, if only be able to smirk at them and say _I told you so._ They were good people, of that Alfred had no doubt, but they were stubborn in the stupid way Bruce was not.

If anyone thought he would lift Bruce's strict rule of _No Capes in Gotham_ then they were stupider than Alfred had assumed.

Although Bruce had cursed. Alfred recignised _that_ particular tactic as a stress reliever. Which meant something had happened in the three weeks and five days he'd been missing.

Alfred just hoped he'd misheard him when he had said us. He didn't know what he'd do if he'd brought home a stray.

 **oOoOoOo**

The door between the Wayne household and the sewers was protected state of the art, the best Batman could make, security measures.

Sometimes Alfred thought that maybe Bruce was a tad paranoid and _honestly_ _do we really need that?_ Then one of his villains decided to go for Mr Wayne and the security actually came in handy. Alfred had just learned to stop glaring at them so obviously.

Bruce had been gone for 3 weeks and 5 days and more than once had that security protocals and measures came in handy. At least three times _something_ had tried to smash in the studys window, in the exact same place where the glass had originally shattered from where Bruce had dissappeared. It had given Alfred quite a frught whenever he'd returned three days later to find a damp, wreacked study. Somewhere where a fight or atleast a stuggle had taken place if the black goo (it reminded him a tad of blood, from the way it had dried and its odd texture) in the wall was of any indication.

"Master Bruce!" The sewers were dark and smelly but if Alfred squinted as he bumbled down the stairs he could see the outline of that _oh-so-familiar_ black cape.

Sure enough, at his name Bruce turned around and even in the dark Alfred could very easily see the girl resting on his hip either unconscious or asleep (inwardly he sighed, _this_ was so obviously the stray. Secretly, he hoped the young girl was asleep.) His suit was, indeed, in tatters, with his mask ripped just so that you could see one bloodshot almost grey eye. His cape, battered and stretched and torn, was barely still connected to his chestpiece. The main kevlar of the suit looked to be thinner than what it should've been and Alfred was sure if he focused he could see Bruce swaying back and forth ever so slightly. Whether from exhaustion, an injury or to possibly calm himslef or the girl Alfred hoped it was the latter. Still, he asked. "Are you alright, sir?"

Bruce's grin could've blinded a lesser man and Alfred thanked God that he wasn't one. Shuffling forward and not bothering to mask a wince as his hip popped loudly in the smelly silence, Bruce nodded at the little metal box that was the keypad making an aborted shrugging motion. "I apologise for calling you Alfred but I don't know the code and I didn't want to risk anything."

Alfred could've laughed but he felt drained from the past few weeks and he ended up triedly snorting as he typed in the code. The lasers slowly disabled and vanished with a hydraulic hiss and a few metallic clangs. Relief bloomed in him, slicing away the shock and it was a challenge to keep his voice even with his eyes shinning. "That's quite alright, sir. Do try to not give me a heart attack again, though, Master Bruce."

He got a sheepish smile in response. "It's good to see you, Alfred."


	4. Chapter 4: Falling With No Cushion

Chapter four. I'm crying inside. Yay!!! Enjoy this new chappie.

I'd like to thank everyone who had favourited and/or followed and I'd also like to thank _iodyowl11, AndromedaSeaprincess18_ and _forsakenfoxshadow_ for reviewing I love you all!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own DC or Batman or anyone. Just the plot. (If there is one.)

 **Note: Updated as of 2.6.18.**

 **oOoOoOo**

 **Chapter 4: Falling With No Cushion**

 **oOoOoOo**

His feet hurt. And now that he thoughtabout it so did his shoulder, and his back, and his hip. And his neck.

 _Damn._ He was getting old.

He was sitting on one of the two med cots in the med bay area of the Cave with Rachel knocked out on the one beside him to his left. She'd fell asleep on the second left turn and after how ever long he'd been there he didn't havethe heart to wake her.

From years of experience, as both Bruce Wayne and Batman and the shadows inbetween, he now knew of by heart who could start a conversation.

Ergo, without matter or doubt he'd removed the cowl immediately and was now sitting there, contemplating his words. Something he'd never done much of before.

He wondered where his social skills had went to.

"How long has it been?" He'd asked, wincing at the rough scraping feeling using his voice caused deep in his throat. He closed his eyes for a second and when he opened them Alfred was there. Standing patiently with a cup of, no doubt, earl grey tea.

He wasted no time on shallowly blowing on it. The heat was nice, with a distinct difference from the stale drugged water of the fountain and the parched dry feeling of swallowing his saliva. "It had been three weeks and five days since I returned home. From my small analysis skills I assume you were taken a few days before I arrived back. I'm relieved you are back though Master Bruce, there has been a few security problems recently that I'd advise you to look into as soonas you are healed."

A mix of emotions bubbled within him. There'd been security problems? He'd been gone for over three weeks? What state had Alfred found the place in? How had it scared him? Regret bubbled but the real Bruce had never been good at apologys or giving thanks. at

That's what Bruce Wayne was for: he was cover, a show, he was all an act. Bruce Wayne was a show for the rich and a ignorant man for the poor. It's what made his identity so secure. If he showed no interest in crime how would he be linked to it? The furthest he'd gotten to it all was being friends with Jim Gordan. And years later no one knew a thing.

A thought came to him as Alfred wheeled over the trolley of medical supplies. "What about the League?"

As much as he enjoyed being in a group of people who dealt with the same thing and was openly recognised he hated the way the tide could turn for them instantly. With the League relying on Governmental approvance to run around the world and walk on free ground one wrong move could send them tumbling backwards.

That was, obviously, why they had secret identies for one reason or another. They needed to protect themselves out of the suitand those they held close. That was why Batman mainly stood in the shadows, he didn't want to be there when it fell in the nicest way possible.

"Mister Kent popped by more than once in various attempts to have me allow Superman to patrol but I stuck firm to the rule, Master Bruce." He finally raised an eyebrow at Rachel just as Bruce hissed as the disinfectant burned against his shoulder wound. "And who would this young lady be?"

"Ah," He said, glancing over to the too thin girl lying on the cot next to him. Suddenly he didn't know what to say. "She- uh. She helped me get out. I'm in debt to her."

Alfred wore his knowing look but didn't say anything about it. Instead, he chuckled making his moustache twitch and spoke in a playfully chiding tone. "What have I said about becoming in debt to your villains, Master Bruce?"

 _But she's not a villian. She's just a lost child._ He wanted to explain, say what the Couet had done (or what he knew and could guess of it) but he couldn't risk it so soon, maybe once he'd saved his city. _She's just_ lost

Bruce smiled ruefully when Alfred turned around to grab the bandages.

 **oOoOoOo**

Rachel knew all too well the feeling of disturbed sleep. She could only rely on powernaps to get her through the days' long hours. There had been no chances to sleep in with Cobb always there, watching her every move, claiming he knew what was right for a _young girl like her._

Bad memories swirled and she pushed the line of thought away.

She opened her eyes to dull white light, brighter than the Mazes. That alone had her once slowing instincts joting into awareness.

With the twitch of her fingers she could feel the silken blankets her high-end targets decorated their sleeping rooms in. She could feel the too soft pillow under her head and the way she felt as if she were floating on a cloud mafe her feel sick.

She stopped breathing and snapped her eyes shut, for all appearances sleeping, as sound came to her.

There was another in her vicinity. Whereever she was she wasn't alone. Judging from the deep breaths they belonged to a man, possibly over six foot to accomodate the amount of oxygen the lungs were sucking in.

Her veins tickled unhappily, six foot was taller than Cobb. Cobb had been 5 foot 11 and she'd broken a sweat trying to kill him (and although hehad been a Talon, the six foot mans breaths were deep yet measured in the way only a war-trained soldier could breathe).

Instead of speaking, instead of ruining the rare moment of peace (even if it had her tensing with panic at the presence of another), Rachel just breathed.

With the well-trained ears of a broken soul she listened to the soft croon of birds as they sung their songs. And for the first time in a long time, she relaxed. Remembering faint whisps of a time where she'd lay upon a trailer, sunhat on her head as she grinned up at a summers deep morning sky.

She was close to falling asleep again whenever the six foot man spoke, the sudden rustle emiminating from his area suggesting he'd turned to look at her.

"I know you're awake." The voice was deep and it sprung a leak somewhere. She recognised that voice.

 _Bruce Wayne. Millionaire playboy, #67 on priority list, #53 on watch list and #90 on threat list._

How had _he_ found her?

She ignored the question for information. Her voice rasped in the familiar way she could remember it had from the day it had been born. It had used to feel right, now it just felt wrong. "Where am I?"

"Wayne Manor, how do you feel? You can open your eyes if you want."

"Fine," she said, even though her stomach somersaulted unhappily and she had to swallow her saliva harder than usual to make it go and stay down. The light was better than it had been at first, not so blinding as her eyes adjusted.

She was in a room. It was big and lavish and it painted a picture of what this man lived in while she survived off scraps and at the end of her missions was forced back into her coffin.

She felt annoyance bubble up within her immdiately. Wayne spoke again, this time with a cup with brown liquid that steamed apearing infront of her as he beckoned her to sit up. "Do you remember what happened? Here, sit up, tea."

Rachel assumed that the steaming brown liquid was tea and from her inital acessment of grabbing it, she found it held temperatures of beyond her tolerance. (Which was admittadely smaller than most other Talons.)

"Careful," Wayne said, sitting down in an old mahogany wooden seat beside her. "It's hot."

The room was wallpapered in a soothing gold with royal red highlights added in from place to place. There was a door which she assumed lead into a walk-in closet (as rich people were nïave like that) and another further down from that which she assumed to be an en-suite bathroom.

There was a bedside table beside the bed which was what Wayne set the teacup on when she'd decided it was too hot to attempt more than a few sips. The bed she was lying in had to be somewhere between a King or a Queen and the covers (like she'd assumed earlier) were fastened out of a royal red coloured silk. There were no visible threats other than the low level one infront of her.

Thinking back to the last thing she remembered it all came back to her. The Talon had had enough and decided to leave. Then it had left, walking back into the recesses of her mind, deciding it had lived long enough and that it was her turn. It had led Batman out of the Maze when he had found it and the man had brought it with him. But then--

 _By ._

"You're Batman." Of course, it was genius. Disguise yourself as an uncaring rich man and no one would know a thing. If she'd been Talon she'd have had to report this but now she was free and she didn't have to do anything. A thrill of excitement ran through her.

"Yes," Wayne nodded, "You remember everything else then?"

The way he looked at her meant he wanted her to repeat it. Her eyes flickered out the window while she did. "You found the Talon, it led you out of the Maze and you brought me along with you, here instead of dumping me somewhere like anybody else would."

Cobb had done that once. He'd dumped her in a remote part of the old sewers and told her tk find her own way back. She'd spent tgree days lost there but by the end of it she knew the sewers like the back of her hand. (Thin and scraggly with random veins that seemed end randomly. Her black blood was the sewer water and it was as tempermental as the sewers themselves.)

A thought came to her and she felt her mood drop.

She had nowhere to go. She'd have to attempt to do something up here to get money, to get a house or to leave. She could go back to Romania, she still had the faded skin tone to prove the lady was her country.

Wayne cleared his throat, and Rachel's eyes zoned in on his patient expression in tge window. She could see herself too, thin yet alive looking with her hair cut and washed for the first time in years. After a second she turned her head to him, "Yes?"

"I'm aware you used to live down there." Wayne said, looking more serious than the papers with him in them that had made their way down to the sewers had ever made him look. "And firstly, I want to you know you have a choice here. You can stay here, with me and my butler and we can come up with a cover or you can leave and do whatever you wish to as Batman destroyed the Court."

She didn't like this man. The very fact that he hid the Bat behind a persona so well disturbed her. She nodded and thanked him anyway.

She always had enjoyed a good show. She supposed she could stay.


	5. Chapter 5: Fitting In Like A Star

Fifth chapter. I'd like to thank you all for reading. Please do give me feedback, though. I need to improve and if I don't get comments how am I supposed to make this better?

 **Disclaimer: I don't own DC.**

 **Note: Updated as of 2.6.18.**

 **o** **OoOoOo**

 **Chapter: Fitting In Like A Star In The Dark**

 **oOoOoOo**

He taught her language.

Within the first month she knew so many languages she had to forcefully stop herself from switching into one subconsciously. She learned the ones he knew and he learned hers in return.

Romanian was one she commonly used, with B (his new nickname. Bruce reminded her too much of the millionaire playboy) normally answering in either Latin or Spanish. They made an odd conversation to outside ears, sometimes using at least 15 languages in less than five minutes. More than once Al (she couldn't quite pronounce Alfred, somehow it turned into Al-bread. None of them knew why. She _could_ say Al, though.) had walked in on them and raised an eyebrow.

"Conspiring together in different languages now?" The butler had said, his moustache twitching with the beginnings of a smile. "How ever am I to find out about your dastardly plans now?"

Rachel had swallowed a laugh at that, while B smiled and shrugged grinning. "Es Buena idea."

"Ohh no it's not, Master Bruce." Al said, joking smile just visible from under his moustache. "Far from it!"

 **oOoOoOo**

Over the course of the few months she'd been there Rachel had found she wasn't a fan of the sun. For starters, it was too bright. A huge contrast to her dark alcoves she'd found throughout the manor and the Batcave, which she found she adored due to the activity of the bats.

Couple that with the fact only bad things happened when it reared it's head from behind the mountains of smog.

Today was a sunny day and the rising pit of anxiety was holding firm in her gut. Something would happen she knew it.

B was already at the head of the table when she made her way into the dining room. He was reading the morning paper (the front page had a picture of the thugs Bats had rounded up last night) and nursing a cup of coffee. Al, sneaky as ever, appeared beside the man, a dish in hand. "Breakfast, sir."

B accepted it with a grunt as he set the paper down, page open on some article about Wayne Industries. He spared her a nod of greeting, "Thanks Alfred. Rachel."

Al turned to her and a glass of orange coloured stuff appeared on the near little square she'd been told was a cup mat. The orange stuff was apparently called orange juice, which Rachel thought was fitting. "Any requests for breakfast, madam?" Al asked to which Rachel shrugged.

"I'd prefer cereal, Al." She said, reaching out to play with the orange juice in the glass. She saw Al nod and bow at the edge of her vision.

B had started in on his breakfast already, it was a fry with eggs (Rachel cringed at them, for some reason her stomach couldn't handle them), bacon (she detested the way it was made from a helpless animal), soda and potato bread and sausages (again, a helpless animal). All in all, Rachel was sure she was at least vegetarian and from the side eyed glances Al gave her she figured he was cottoning on too.

"So," She said, pausing to come up with a good sentence starter that would (hopefully) result in one of their multilingual conversastions. She glanced out the window, the green hedges of the manors grounds stared back with the hintings of sunlight peaking through. "It's nice today. Sunny."

B apparently wasn't in the mood for casual conversation as he set down his cutlery and linked his fingers in the way Rachel had realised he did when he was being serious. "Rachel," his tone was cold and hard and for a split second Rachel thought Cobb was sitting there instead of the man who wanted to adopt her (they just had to make up a plausible backstory for her and it was done). "What is your name?"

Incredulity filled her and she spluttered out a laugh. He had to be joking. "You just said it. Rachel."

His eyes turned steely and Rachel felt herself swallow. "Your real name."

Her heart stuttered to a stop, walk girl, or do you want your heart crushed again? Panic bubbled in her chest and she suddenly felt very lightheaded. "What?" It came out weak and Rachel hoped he couldn't hear the fear in her voice.

"Rachel Grayson isn't your real name." Her world darkened for a moment as her surname was uttered but what he said next brought it all back into focus. "There is no living 'Rachel Grayson'."

 _What?_ She thought, heart pounding quicker than a spider running across a wall.

Talon panicked, **_No, you can't let him go. Catch him, skin him, kill him! The birds wouldn't let him away with this, do som--!_**

 _You forget, we aren't a bird anymore._ She whispered back.

"I don't understand," she said, it was nothing more than a mere frightened whisper. Where was Al when you needed him?

B levelled her with something very close to a Bat glare. "It's not that hard, you can tell me and we'll never speak of this again."

The voice of a woman she hadn't seen in years reappeared in her head and she had to close her eyes to blink backtears. _You'll always be my little robin, baby._ _Don't worry._ _We'll make it to America, we'll start over there._

The long lost voice of a man, tall and strong, joined the woman. _Don't you fret little Ana, daddy will protect you and mommy._

 ** _No!_** The Talon screamed, **_What are you doing? He's dangerous, unpredictable, decieving! No, no, no!_**

"Anca, is my true name." She said. "Although my parents called me Ana."

She could tell B knew something from the way his brows scrunched up in confusion. No... Talon sounded lost. Rachel felt it. He frowned, "But... That would mean -"

 ** _Apa Sâmbetei we are young compared to others!_ _Why is he shocked?_ **Talon skreeched. _I don't know,_ she agreed. "I'm 70 years old. I was born in 1935. My parents died in '45. I was 10 when I became a Talon."

B looked constipated, "How are you-?"

"The Talon serum holds back aging so much I might as well not be. I look 16 to everyone but my soul."

B didn't speak again for the rest of the day and Rachel figured the conversation was over.

 **oOoOoOo**

Gotham was a beautiful city to those who could see her.

At night her lights twinkled like long lost stars, stranded on a plane of earth too far from home. Sometimes Rachel felt like that, only she had no home to wish to go back to. Romania was hers, yes, but she was gone too long to truely remember and claim it to be really hers.

And during the day, oh, she was beautiful. A piece of art that shone to rival all others. The million dolar piece to the five cent splash.

Maybe her so much was because Rachel had watched her grow; from a little shack to a bundle of huts to her adolescence - a town. Then to a bustling city that had crowned her own knight to protect her.

Rachel had grown with her city and she learned with her. Maybe, just maybe it was because they were the same age. Or enough so that Rachel could freely call Gotham her little sister.

(Because that's what she was; a pure little orb of joy and life.

A new beginning turned dark, a new chance wasted.

Anca agreed. Talon, hiding in the recesses of her mind, in the dark, scowled and turned away from the light.)

 **oOoOoOo**

B dropped the issue of her name as he'd promised and they never talked about it again. She became Rachel Wayne a month later, after Bruce had taken a vacation through Europe, Romania specifically and _found_ her in an orphanage. An only child, with a nobody father and a mother who'd died before she could name her newborn.

The news spread fast and with the news splayed over every inch of social media, from the news to online articles. Rachel couldn't wait to meet the first Leaguer to catch on the Bat had adopted.

Wonder Woman was first. She came with fake and worried concerns based off what little knowledge she knew of the Bat. Rachel took an immediate dislike to her as the (younger by all accounts) woman ignored her the entire time, dead set on talking only about what Batman would do and how _" It's unfortunate for people like us to nurse children, teenage or not."_ B had smiled and shooed her away as soon as he could. Based off his grumbles later she assumed correctly that the woman did nothing but annoy her new father.

Flash was next. He would've been a more respectable man was he not so easily distracted and so _chatty_. Rachel inwardly wondered how he hadn't been killed yet with his attention span of a goldfish. He'd greeted her accordingly before asking her a lot of questions on what Romania was like (B had needed to intervene and save her because Rachel realised she didn't know the first thing about her country).

He left them a few hours later, speeding away only once he got a call about some Captain Cold (or was it Freeze?) rasing havoc in his city. Rachel would've liked him more had he been more focused and driven. As it was she found him distracting.

Green Lantern was the third, apparently surprising as Hal Jordan was commonly offworld. The man explained that he'd just gotten home and seen it on the news. He went on to congratulate them on the process but had asked no questions or expressed any worries for the Bat. Simply stating when she asked that he was busy and quite frankly that " _Ol' Batsy's a tough nut to crack, if torture won't do it I doubt a kid will. I don't see no problem with you having a family, Bruce. If anyone else says anything they're probably just jealous especially Diana - we all know how Steve didn't work out._ "

Rachel found herself liking him more than the other two, especially as he'd came as Hal Jordan and not in his superhero persona like the other two.

Superman appeared fourth, on a cold, windy day that had Rachel shivering with lost, blurred pieces of an old life tumbling around in her head. She may've been a little meaner than she'd intended to but the approach had made the man spit his grievances out quicker.

Like Wonder Woman, he insisted it wasn't good for one of their lifestyle to have kids, of blood or not. Bruce had scowled at him and Al had been forced to show him to the door before one of them decapitated the pigheaded man.

Martian Manhunter, J'onn Jonzz, didn't see the need to approach them at all over the matter. He congratulated Batman in the Watchtower after one of their monthly meetings.

Rachel found herself liking the alien more than the others.

That said something.

 **oOo NOTES oOo**

 **ANCA** : Anca, of hebrew origin, is a popular first name. It is more often used as a girl (female) name. People having the name Anca are in general originating from France, Romania and the United States. It means Grace or Favour. Sometimes, Merciful.

 **APA SÂMBETEI:** In Romanian mythology the worlds ocean is called Apa Sâmbetei (roughly, 'saturdays water'). This is, according to their mythology, the place on which God's kingdom was formed. I thought it went well with Rachel's language usuages. As it is old and she's 70 years old, folktales would've been the common stories of her days and I believe her parents would've told her as many as possible.


	6. Chapter 6: Birds Of A Feather

Thank you so much _jodyowl11_ you actually inspired most of this chapter. I really liked your ideas and I'll try to do as many of them that fit into my wonky plot plan.

So over the past few days I have actually rewritten and edited most things (nearly everything) changing my plot, Rachel's age (she's 70 now) and other small details. I suggest rereading all previous chapters to understand fully. My craziness has a plot to it, don't worry.

 **Disclaimer:** **I** **don't own DC**

 **Updated as of 4th** **June, 2018.**

 **oOoOoOo**

 **Chapter 6:** **Birds Of A Feather**

 **oOoOoOo**

Rachel created a light to the Bats darkness. She named it **Robin**.

 **oOoOoOo**

Alf had insisted _if_ she was to go out and help Bats she had to make it _untraceable_.

So she waited. She waited a year until the news of Rachel _Wayne_ had long since died down and she was firmly integrated into life.

By all appearances she looked like a spoilt brat. Bruce bought her the newest phones regularly, bought her only the best high end retailer clothing and just for public eyes employed a tutor to privately tutor her on Fridays.

B trained her on the inside, teaching her how to blend more into the dark now that she wasn't Talon and no longer held its sleek slyness. He continued with her languages until they created one together, forming an unbreakable code that only the two of them could speak. She figured out how to mix antitoxins and antibodies and toxins in the safety of the Cave where there was no Alfred to cast disapproving glances. (He taught her how to drive and how to use the headset to control the vehicles from the Cave should a situation arise, but Alfred didn't need to know that.)

Most of all, she learned how to live and how to be a child. For the first time in years she knew what it was like to be loved.

Then came the issue of a costume once she was ready. She preferred something light and simple whereas Bats protested she needed an armoured suit. Something bulky enough to protect, yet light to fly and good enough for her figure to not be found out by people who see her.

It took her awhile to come up with a fool proof resistance. Eventually, it came three weeks after her and Bats had butted heads over the design.

 **oOoOoOo**

It was one of those sunny days which Rachel protested. Ergo the hour of noon found her sitting at a stool in the kitchen sketching out a design as Al baked cookies.

She'd become a decent drawer from all the sketches she'd been forced to do for her costume. So instead of unintelligent scribbles her outfit actually looked like something a child would understand.

Or at least, it would've had she thought of something and actually written anything down.

She'd spent the last fifteen minutes staring at a planted cactus wondering if she decorated herself in spikes, would the villains stay away? Alfred was going through his second batch of cookies, the first of which had been emptied onto a plate which now sat beside her.

Rachel was becoming convinced the butler was physic. Without looking up from his latest batch, he asked. "Need some help madam?"

Jolting out of her daydream Rachel blinked at him. "Um, yeah. Sorta stuck right now."

Obligingly he queried, "On what, exactly?"

"Everything," Rachel moaned, running her hand through her too long hair. It went down to her mid back now after Alfred had cut it but she still thought it was too long. It would get in the way, she didn't want to ask for another haircut so soon though.

Alfred caught her eye, glancing up at her with a thoughtful look in his blue eyes. She had actually mastered the art of saying his name, though she still just said Al whenever she was frustrated. "I'm right in assuming the Talon had no preferred gender?"

 _Oh_ , annoyed she scowled at the table. _Didn't he know she didn't want to talk about that?_ "Yes, but.."

Al cut her off quite rudely and Rachel would've huffed at him had what he said next not been so brilliant. "Have you thought about your vigilante being a male?"

 _That's_ … " _De_ _cercuri_! That's brilliant!" She squealed, jumping up from her seat to hug the man. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Alfred chuckled as he patted her back, "You're very welcome madam. Anything else I could happen to help you on?"

Shyly Rachel looked up at him, "You wouldn't happen to know a few good colours for my _imbracaminte_ , would you?"

 **oOoOoOo**

"Bats! Bats!" She shouted, skipping the stairs completely as she somersaulted down them. She felt happier than she had in years. "I got it! It's brilliant, it's perfect, Alfred even approved it!"

She bounced over to the console and blinked as the visor footage, coming live from Batman's cowl, showed no one other than the blue and red man of steel. Bats voice was strained when he grunted, "I'm a little busy Rachel. What is it?"

"Forget it. What's happening?" Her heart pounded in her ears. Superman screamed something but the cowls audio receptors must've been totaled because nothing but static came over it. Bats suit was straining under the weight of a concrete beam. B's vitals were off the charts.

When no reply came, she asked again, nearly shouting this time. "What's happening? Batman!"

"We've had a bit of a disagreement. He believes it's stupid to bring you into this."

Resentment and anger filled her, taking away her worry and earlier joy. Bats had told the League about her becoming a hero at the monthly meeting just yesterday. Most had taken it well, except for Superman and Wonder Woman. Everyone else, the other four and the two newest, Cyborg and Hawk Man, had all taken it perfectly well. Even going so far as to welcome her into the community. But the other two had made their displeasure clear.

Rachel assumed this was how Kryptonians dealt with their anger. It wasn't healthy. "I can help you-" He cut her off, narrowly avoiding a punch that would've sent him flying. Superman was angry and it was costing him speed.

"No," He said, already panting for breath. Rachel wondered how long they'd been at it. "You have no suit, I'm not bringing you out here to face this _thing_ with no protection."

Rachel blinked, B must've been a rebellious teen and was basing her actions off his own. "Actually I was gonna pilot the Batmobile from here and help you."

"Oh," His words were toeing breathy as he dodged under a chunk of stone to gain a second breath. "Go ahead. Preferably right now."

Jumping with ill-timed excitement Rachel grabbed the headset and fell into the leather seat Bats kept in front of her monitors. "Righty." A button had the Batmobile starting up from where it was trapped under a steel beam from a collapsed building.

The console appeared around her and with a singular motion she had the Batmobile free and racing towards Bats position. In seconds it was there and Rachel got a good look at the damage, together with Batman's gadgets and Superman's powers they'd trashed an entire block of run down homes that thankfully nobody lived in.

"This is the Batmobile express, please hop in and we will commence our short journey." The top popped open and instantly Bats was lunging forward just as Superman ripped the stone away.

"Drive!" He shouted as the top snapped shut. Rachel hit the thrusters.

"I'll take you the long way around, B. Hopefully we'll lose him somewhere along the sewers if we're lucky." It was times like these that Rachel was thankful she knew Gotham so well. The long way around was quite simple actually, from where the Batmobile was she just had to careen through half the city, find the secret passageway into the sewers, drive a quarter of a mile through them before defacing off into them older parts and finding the specially Bat installed door to the harbour floor where a specially reinforced glass tunnel ran through the core of it before emerging at the borders of Gotham where another passageway would lead to the Cave.

"Good. Thanks." Rachel strained to hear the quiet admittance but she smiled when she did.

"No problem, Dad." A tingle of warmth rushed through her at the words and she fired the boosters up more to hit the speed to access the passageway to the sewers.

"So," He said, finally sinking into the Batmobile soft seating. "What was it you were sitting excited about?"

"Oh!" She struggled to not let go of the console to clap excitedly. "I figured out what to do with my suit with some help from Alf."

His heart rate was calming down, that was good. Superman's heat signature was getting further away, either he didn't want to follow or had given up. Rachel hoped it was the latter. "And?"

"Red, black and with a hint of yellow." They were beautiful colours in their own rights but the way Alfred had told her to draw them made them that bit more special. She hit a button and the specs popped up on the 'mobiles window which had installed holographic projectors.

She heard B whistle. "Very nice. You're going to cut your hair?"

She was practically glowing now, "Yep. If Rachel Wayne is a girl and Robin's a boy who'll suspect anything?"

Bruce nodded, a tilt to his mouth that indicated just how smart he thought she was. "Robin's your name then?"

"Uh-huh." She said in confirmation as she fishtailed the 'mobile to get it at the right angle to get into the underwater tunnel. Superman was long gone, his heat signature retreating in the direction of Metropolis.

"Any specific reason?" He asked as he finally decided to put on his seat belt. Rachel wondered how he hadn't been flung out the window yet, then decided it was thanks to her brilliant driving.

"It's an old nickname."

 **oOo NOTES oOo**

 **IMBRACAMINTE :** Romanian translation of outfit. I apologise if it's wrong, I got it from Google Translate.

 **DE CECURI:** Romanian translation of by the heavens. I apologise for this too, it's from Google Translate.


	7. Chapter 7: Borne from Sweat and Tears

Back again. So I got a couple of reviews on the last chapter and I would like to thank you guys. To _wolfimus prime_ (I LOVE your name!) Yes! The Batboys will be in this. The entire Batfamily will, it's still the early days though and I can't just have them randomly pop up with no Rachel and Bruce time. Stuff has to happen but they will show up and they will be great!

I would also like to thank _white Angel 246_ for pointing out that they didn't understand the 100 year old thing. As it turns out that was a typo.

Rachel is 70 due to being born (unlike canon) in 1935 (the serum halts her aging thus letting her live way longer than a normal human can. Not that Rachel's _normal_ ). Her parents died when she was 10 in 1945. She was also taken away to become a Talon by Cobb in '45. This chapter is set a few years later in 2007 (around about it) as she waited a year before becoming Robin and there has been a (wee) bit of a time skip. Bruce adopted her in 2005.

Thank you to everyone else who commented, nice comments really make my day.

 **Disclaimer: I don't own DC.**

 **Updated as of 24th June, 2018.**

 **oOoOoOo**

 **Chapter 7:** **Borne from Sweat and Tears**

 **oOoOoOo**

Robin was borne from a child's dream on a bone weary, cold autumn night.

He took the form of a saviour in disguise, for both adult and child. He was the Bats light and the Bat was his darkness. They were a pair. They were a duo of dynamic feats.

They were the dynamic duo: according to the media.

Robin was bright; a dazed mix of mostly red and black with the barest highlights of yellow for his belt, cape and his iconic _R_. His boyish cackle filled the creaking stones of Gotham with a renewed spirit of life and stuck a cord of desperate fear in those who he faced against.

While Batman was dark; his black and grey suit sifted carelessly throughout the muck of Gotham's underground, with even the bravest sane man quailing at the thought of the feared Bat.

Robin was happy and smiled while Batman hid in the shadows and watched with narrowed white eyes.

Robin was to be a release outlet for a young girl.

He became much, _much_ more.

He became a signal of hope for the _weak_.

 **oOoOoOo**

Robin first emerged on a cloudy night where Joker freely roamed and Poison Ivy was restless.

Pamela Isley was a slim woman, with artificially pink hair and skin a worrying shade of vine green. She'd set up her camp in the local park that night and Robin hadn't needed an ounce of prompting to swing ahead of the Bat and take her down with a well thrown sleeping gas birdarang - using the villainesses confusion and shock to aid his hand.

Batman had stood about long enough to hand over Ivy to the GCPD and shortly brief Commissioner Gordon on the update of his new partner ("Yes Jim, he is old enough to make his own decisions.") and inform him of what had happened with Ivy. ("Nothing,"

"Nothing? You're sure?" The Commissioner's moustache twitched and Robin was hard kept from bursting out laughing.

"Entirely.")

During that Robin had stood at the Bats side, grinning at the nosey cameras and waving every so often. If the enthusiastic whispers and aww's the women gave when he did it said anything: it was that Robin wasn't taken as a threat - they liked him.

That was good for public moral when he actually took down some villains.

 **oOoOoOo**

"What are we doing?" Robin whispered from inside Batman's cape. They were hunched on an old warehouse roof, a building over from an imported storage warehouse. Batman had told him nothing, forgoing the debriefing and deciding to save time by dragging him straight to the roof.

"Hush, Robin." Batman said, narrowing his eyes to make the cowls lenses zoom in. Robin couldn't care less about being quiet. Gotham could be compared to a graveyard in its early hours, with all its silent misery. "There's been reports of Scarecrow sightings around here. If he were to hide out here this is the building best equipped for his chemicals."

Robin perked up at that, he hadn't dealt with Scarecrow yet in his 7 months of being around. During that time the media and villains alike had grown to respect and fear the boy wonder. He had, after all, taken down Solomon Grundy alone in front of a news camera crew. (They'd been in danger and were too stupid to move so Robin had needed to intercept and had been forced to take him down.) The incident had gained him a lot of shock, but more importantly, it had gained him respect.

"What's he like?" Robin asked, his voice still muffled by the cape. He'd already read Scarecrows profile from the Bat Computer (and if he so wished he could pull it up on his domino's lenses right now and look over it again) but there hadn't been much on him aside from the bare essentials.

Jonathan Crane. Ex-psychiatrist for Arkham Asylum. He'd been fired on the grounds of experimenting with his patients, therefore becoming Scarecrow. Apparently he'd loved his job. He'd been locked up in his very own workplace. It was ironic if you asked Robin.

Every time he broke out of Arkham he came back with a new fear gas, always stronger and crueler than the last. From what Robin could read it got boring pretty fast, meaning you could take him down if you had a breathing mask.

"He's annoying." Was Batman's grunt which proved his woes true. This was going to be an uneventful night. "Do you have your breather?"

Robin patted the belt pouch it was in just to be sure; it was easy to open and close to the front for easy access should he suddenly need it. "Yep, fully stocked my belt last night."

He barely heard Batman's grunt of "Good," as he poked his head out and was met head on with a gust of chilly wind. He stepped out of the cape, shaking himself off as he grinned at the building, feeling just a tad bored but unwilling to show it. "Huh, it's cold out tonight. So... are we going to go down and get him?"

"At the first sign of him, yes."

Robin raised an eyebrow under his domino. "You mean you haven't seen him yet? We've been standing here for hours and you've been staring through that window for more than half that. How have you not seen a man with a potato sack over his head?"

Batman swished his hand at him good-naturedly. "It's not as easy as you make it out to be, chum. Scarecrow has too many lackeys to walk about himself."

Robin felt like laughing. "Don't they just wear ripped-off versions of his potato sack? _How_ haven't you seen them yet?"

It must've been some sick sixth sense someone had, because just as he said that a van screeched up beside the warehouse and six of Scarecrows goons jumped out, carting two people out, with sacks over their heads. They were unconscious if their lack of struggling said anything.

"Well," Robin whispered. "I think we just got lucky."

They waited for them to get into the building before firing their grapples at Batman's brisk command, "Now!"

Their way in was simple why can't ours be too? Robin thought as he rolled into a crouch as he landed. There was one overhead window big enough for them both to jump through on one half of the roof with another on the other half. They split up, Batman staying where he was at the first window while Robin quietly jumped over the loose tiles and made it to crouch over to the other. At Batman's signal they jumped.

It was instant chaos. With the goons going scare crazy and shooting at everything once the glass broke. Batarangs and birdarangs were flying in lethally precise paths headed straight to take out the goons. Batman hit the ground first due to his weight pulling him down with gravity so Robin took those extra seconds where his partner was rolling (to absorb his landing) to throw a few extra Birdarangs and take out a couple more goons. There had been around 30 to start with, they were down to 12 now. Good odds in Robin's opinion.

Meanwhile, Scarecrow had been alerted to their arrival by the sudden shouts and gunfire and had appeared in the corner of the room, where the two people were (one male, one female. Both tied to chairs with sacks over their heads.). Robin couldn't see what he was doing as once he saw him he had to drop into a roll to land. But whatever it was, he was sure it wasn't good.

A goon, with a smiley face drawn onto his sack in sharpie, charged towards him. A kick to his pelvis and then an undercut had him on his knees in seconds. He was knocked out just as three goons worked up the courage and charged too, all welding crowbars. Robin jumped up, cracking two goons heads together as they met head on and took the next one out with a kick to the face, powered by his momentum.

Two more circled him and Robin took one out as he came out of his landing roll with an exploding birdarang. The other snatched a gun from the floor and notched the click, getting ready to turn him into a splatter on the wall. He didn't get the chance as an exploding birdarang wedged itself into the guns barrel just as he fired it. It exploded in the man's hands, making him scream. Still though, he tried to charge Robin only to be rewarded with a punch to the face. He dropped with a whimper.

When Robin looked up it was to the sight of Batman sparing with Scarecrow and winning. Using some initiative Robin circled around their fight around and made it to the corner where he pulled out a sharpened birdarang and started working at the kidnapped people's rope.

When he was halfway through the rope the female stirred. Her voice was slurred and her fingers twitched the tiniest bit. "W- Who's th-there?"

Robin, expecting her to take his name well, said, "Robin, ma'am. Batman and Robi--" He was cut off by the woman beginning to scream Bloody Mary as she bucked and withered. Robin had to stop trying to cut the rope in fear of cutting her.

"No! No!" The woman screamed, loud enough to echo in the warehouse. Robin heard Scarecrow start to laugh from the standstill he and Batman had gotten into. "Get away, get away! Get away from me you damned bastard! No!"

Robin felt sick as her screams woke the man and he started in on it too. "I don't! No! You can't, I have a wife! A family! No- no please, I beg you- Don't!"

"What did you do?" He heard Batman growl at Scarecrow, only just loud enough the be heard over two people's frantic screaming. Robin fritzed into action, pulling out his sleeping gas birdarang as he hit it in between the two wooden chairs, his yellow cape raised to ward it off. They didn't stop screaming, in fact they increased. Scarecrow was cackling madly now.

"What did you do?" Batman repeated, sounding darker than he had before. It made Scarecrow work his way out of his laughing fit.

"Don't you see Batman? It worked. My latest invention finally worked!"

"What does it do?" Robin asked stalking over to them because he couldn't stand near the screaming people anymore.

Scarecrow laughed at him. "I guess you'll have to find out for yourself, won't you brat?" And suddenly he was spraying a small deodorant sized can in his face.

Robin choked, his eyes widening as he dropped to his knees. He went numb and everything seemed to blur.

He doubted anything he could hear, feel or see was real because no way in hell had the room just went a freakish shade of red.

Distantly he could hear someone shouting his name, the sound of laughing and joyous taunts and finally a loud smack as a body hit the ground along with the crink of handcuffs being closed. There were hands on his face, words being said but it all blurred into something horrific.

The hands, black gauntlets, morphed into long sickeningly red hands that traced up to a grinning one black eyed, red skinned monster. It leaned in and whispered in the most horrifying voice that Robin knew only as Cobb. "You're not afraid are you, little birdie? You will come to me eventually and then, only then will I take great pleasure in ripping the skin from your dying bones. Change before it is too late my little **_bird_**."

He doesn't know when he started screaming but he can hear himself now, long ragged things that sound like something a child should never endure. The red skinned thing grinned, showing off rows upon rows of sharp yellow teeth. "But you're not a child, now, are you, _Anca_?"

 **oOoOoOo**

Rachel woke up to the bright lights of the Cave's medical bay. There was the steady beep of a heart monitor somewhere close to her ear and the shuffling of a cape not three feet away. Her throat was hoarse and it hurt to swallow, nevermind speak. She tried anyway, "What happened?"

The shuffling stopped and a footstep came closer to her. "Scarecrow got you with his modified fear gas. I managed to get you out of there before anyone arrived but I only just managed to find a working antitoxin a good hour ago. It knocked you out and you've been asleep since. How do you feel?"

"Like I was stepped on by a giant." She said as a calloused hand helped her up and a glass was nudged against her chapped lips. There was water in it and she drowned half the glass before finally assessing her situation. B looked tired, suit still on with the cowl hanging limply around his neck. His forhead was creased with worry and his mouth was a firm line of grief. "How long-?"

"-Five hours. The toxin was a mutant strain that didn't react to the combined old antitoxins as it should've. I have no idea how or when Crane got his hands onto such futuristic serums but it's not a good sign." Worry strained his voice as he added a few extra pillows to the shaggy enesaumble the cot already had. She assumed it meant she'd be staying the night for observation.

"So you're saying Crane just got these out of nowhere?" She asked as she lowered herself back down onto the newly arranged pillows.

"He couldn't have made them in prison." That was true. It also made the source of the toxins very worrying. If they didn't know how he got them how were they to cut off his supply like Batman had before when dealing with the man.

She gave a grunt of agreement and felt her world brighten a little as Bruce chuckled. "I think you're spending a little bit too much time around Batman little lady." He said as he teasingly ruffled her short hair.

She peeled open an eyelid to grin at him. "Who said it was Batman I was imitating?"

B gave a fake gasp. "You didn't." Rachel laughed, smiling. Her grin faded to a sleepy smile and B kissed her forehead as his smile softened. "Get some sleep kiddo, I'll be right here when you wake up."

Sure enough when she woke up the next day B was sitting in a chair he'd dragged over. Beside her, fast asleep.

 **oOo NOTES oOo**

So the Batfamily's cowl and domino lenses are equipped with state of the art computer systems that individually can hack into the world's best computer (the Batcomputer) in under a minute. They're connected to the Batcomputer if there is a signal strong enough to latch onto; meaning that connection could fail underground (in say, a maze of marble) or if the person is too far away from the Computer. They're much like the contact lenses Bruce makes in the New 52. This information is just to help you get an idea of a few tidbits of detail mentioned in this and **further chapters.**


	8. Chapter 8: Ball Gowns and Galas

I cant wait for this chappie to be uploaded. This shows a different side to Rachel which I think is _very_ important. We have to remember Rachel was raised as an assassin so all these epic social skills she's got are thanks to Bruce and Alfred and her occasional only-on-Friday's Tutor.

I love this chapter.

 **Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN THIS OTHER THAN THE PLOT AND MY IDEAS!**

Did I say I love this chapter?

So because of the summer I will hopefully upload quicker than at the end of each month. Thankfulky, I have the next few chaps planned and just need to type them up. Sorry if this chap seems rushed or pointless.

 **oOoOoOo**

 **Chapter 8: Ball Gowns and Galas**

 **oOoOoOo**

"Barbara Gordon. Jim's daughter." B nudged her, his words barely audible over the soft hum of violins playing for the gala. "Go say hello."

Rachel, dressed up in her sparkly red sequin dress turned to refuse. To ask how she; a bird of the sky; would go about possibly talking to her because last she'd checked she tended to scare away most _remotely sane_ people, but B was already gone. She brought her red gloved hand up to hide her frown (god forbid a reporter take a picture of the heir of Wayne scowling at her father's Charity Gala) as she scanned the crowd. She found B engaging in a conversation with some posh, rich man she didn't know the name of.

That really left her one option. She let her hand drop as she turned around, a fake happy smile plastered on her face once more, as she spotted Gordon. _Damn it,_ she thought as she began the walk over to the girl.

She'd befriend this girl if it was the last thing she did.

She swore on it.

 **oOoOoOo**

It was known that Barbara being out of her comfort zone equaled failed social situations. In fact, it practically was a fact by this point, rather than someone's assumption. It was a huge, big bullet point in her no-no book. To be precise: Barbara had been out of her comfort zone the moment she stepped out of the house and that didn't make for a happy Barbara. In fact, if she were to rate it on how she felt being there - ten being the _I feel great, it's going great_ option, one being the _I messed everything up_ one- she'd have to give herself a two on how well she blended in.

She felt like one wrong move would blow everything up in her face, like social outings usually did.

It wasn't like she'd never been to business outing with her father before, she'd just never been taken along to one of Mr Wayne's Galas. Apparently her name had been on the invitation and her dad hadn't wanted to ignore it, he'd said she needed _'fresh air'._ Barbara wasn't sure how being in a stuffy room with a bunch of posh-o rich people was called _'getting fresh air'._

"It's good manners." Her father had added when she'd raised an eyebrow, raising an eyebrow back at her when she said she didn't want to go. She vaguely thought about saying she was busy but that was a lie, her dad knew she wasn't busy. Barbara never was. "It's not like you've got anything better to do, right?"

She'd given in at that. Really, she had nothing better to do other than-

"Hello there."

Barbara blinked, being pulled from her thoughts as a soft feminine voice fluttered behind her. She could've sworn she recognised it.

Turning around with a smile Barbara found Mr Wayne's only (adopted) child, Rachel Wayne, standing there. She was pretty by all the meanings of the word with her luscious black hair (short even as it was), her cerulean blue eyes and her petite figure making her a teenager to die for. Personally Barbara didn't know anything about her past the articles in the paper and those all said she was _'an angel of innocence'._

Barbara wasn't one for stereotyping, but usually the papers got it all wrong.

That didn't make her feel any better.

"Oh," She said, making sure to sound welcoming. Her dad might just kill her if she made Wayne's kid run away crying like she'd done to that eight year old a few weeks ago. She smiled at her. "Hey. I'm Barbara, you?"

If Wayne recognised her she didn't show it. "Rachel Wayne." Her smile was as sweet as ripe cherries and as fake as the shiny gold picture frame was in her bedroom. "Nice to meet you, Barbara."

There was a lull in their conversation where both girls didn't quite know what to say. Barbara started to mentally curse her dad for bringing her and, instantly, abandoning her.

Eventually, Rachel piped up with, "What's your favourite colour?"

Barbara blinked, taken aback at the sudden question and took about moment to think. "Green, maybe." For her mum's eyes. _Yeah._ "What's yours?"

Rachel let a flicker of a vicious grin fly across her face and time slowed as Barbara caught sight of threateningly sharp canines. She shook it off when everything went back to normal. Her anxiety really was a curse. "Red probably... You're the Commissioner's daughter, aren't you?"

Barbara couldn't help but smile back, if uneasily. She tried to hide that though. "What gave it away?" She asked. She knew it was too much to ask for the millionaires kid to know her by first name alone. "It was the hair wasn't it?"

"The name actually," That surprised her. Rachel continued, "I knew the Commissioner had a daughter named Barbara I just didn't realise it was you immediately."

It came out of her mouth before she could stop it; she laughed. "You're weird."

Barbara stopped laughing as Rachel blinked, looking more confused than anything.

 _Fudge._

 _Crapple sticks_ , she'd already messed up making friends with a girl she'd just met.

She scrambled to apologise. "Oh, I'm-"

Rachel burst out laughing. Startling everyone, including Barbara, around her. It wasn't the sort of quiet, shy giggle you'd expect to hear from from a girl such as her, instead it was loud and heartfelt. When she'd stopped she'd was gasping for breath and Barbara was left playing as the dumbfounded one.

"That-" She gasped, bending double as she smiled for real. "You're the first person to outright say that to my face." She straightened, still smiling, as she put a small hand on Barbara's shoulder. "You're hilarious."

Barbara didn't know what to say.

Rachel spoke for her, "I like you. You wanna come over to my place tomorrow if you're free?"

Barbara blinked, struggling to keep up. With the girls sudden mood changes had she not known for sure she wasn't (because seriously, a millionaires kid being loopy? It would make the news instantly) she would've assumed she was bipolar. "Uh, sure."

Rachel's smile became smaller but it stayed genuine. "Great."

With that she was gone, skipping happily back over to her dad.

Barbara stood there for a second, trying to process just what had happened. She felt like laughing when she figured it out: she'd made a friend.

By _insulting_ them.

God she was weird.

 **oOoOoOo**

Bruce heard as Rachel burst out laughing halfway across the room, immersed as he was in his conversation with a nobody rich man who thought he had a great idea. Mr Doughty (that was the man's name if he remembered right) stopped speaking for a second as Rachel burst out laughing genuinely and after staring at Rachel for a second (and after a look from Bruce himself) went back to the line of conversation.

Inside Bruce felt like smiling and laughing and ( _maybe_ ) jumping about. He _knew_ Rachel would get along with Jim's daughter. They were both odd spirits, unique, and they noth tended to march to their own beat (if more so, Rachel in that case). And Jim _had_ mentioned how it was hard for Barbara to make friends. Bruce was sure neither of them would care a bit about the inevitable year age difference. Because as far as they (or one of them) knew: it was only by one year.

Sure enough, Rachel bounced over, the graces of a real smile on her lips as she bundled over to him. "I made a friend, daddy!" She said, cutting Doughty off mid sentence uncaringly. Bruce wanted to thank her, the man was beyond annoying. In this instant he was thankful her exaggerated childishness at these events tended to scare away most of the annoying millionaires that wanted to talk to him.

"Oh?" He smiled, casting what he hoped was an apologetic looking glance at the right man. He put an arm around Rachel's shoulders - she was getting taller. Sprouting from the little girl who barely came up to his abs to a girl who stood just below his armpits. She'd grown exceptionally with the proper food and with her necessities fulfilled. Seventy or not, Rachel just loved to defy physics and the realm of possibility. "I assume you like Barbara then?" He asked playfully.

Rachel giggled, glancing up at him. "Yeah, she's fun. I invited her over tomorrow."

He felt a flower of pride bloom within him for his little girl. "Very good! Did she agree?"

Rachel tilted her head, looking at him as if he were a puzzle. She spoke as if it was obvious. "Of course, silly!"

Bruce realised he'd been ignoring Mr Doughty as he man cleared cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose we can continue this conversation later." He nodded his head. "Mr Wayne."

Bruce smiled at the man, glad to get him out of his hair. "Of course, Mr Doughty. It was nice talking with you."

Rachel tugging on his sleeve brought his attention back to her, "Can we get some punch, _tata_?" She asked.

Bruce's eyes trailed up to the punch bowl: it was big, fruit filled and not at all child (she wasn't really a child, he reasoned) friendly. He looked down to say no when she gave him the puppy dog eyes. He sighed, past the point of arguing with that face. Resigned to his fate, he smiled. "Of course, sweetie."

She smiled as she dragged him over to the refreshments table.

God, he adored his little girl more than his heart could accept.

 **oOo NOTES oOo**

 **TATA:** Father in Romanian. R calls her real dad _daddy (tåtic)_ so she calls B father but with the same intent of daddy, she just uses it to not get mixed up with her memories and the people.


	9. Chapter 9: Her Time Bathed in Blood

**Disclaimer: I just own this AU series: Deep Claws. And the plot(s).** And any OC's that are mine are incorporated into this. Horace is mine. So is Red.

This chapter is a recount of what happened with Rachel while she was a Talon.

 _Tatic_ is meant to have a half circle above the _'a'_ but my tablet isn't cool enough to have that sign. So if you get confused, sorry.

Hope this makes sense, I've been sitting on this one for a while, trying to make it work.

 **oOoOoOo**

 **Chapter 9:** **Her Tim** **e Bathed in Blood**

 **oOoOoOo**

She remembers the way the red and blue blurs fell like leaves fluttering in the breeze. She remembers dismissing the pained, knowing, _sad_ , look Mr Haley had sent her as her great-great-grandfather had shown up. She remembers the way she'd recalled the words her _tatic_ had spoken years before: "Blood; family blood is good. It keeps you alive, if you stay with it and trust your instincts you will live, my baby girl. Follow no one else's hopes or desires. Just your own. Make your own path."

She remembers the way her belly had tingled like something was going to happen, the way it had before _mami_ and _tatic_ had fallen. She remembers the heartaching pain she felt at thinking about her parents and she remembers ignoring the feeling in her belly, ignoring her instincts, going against her _tatic_ 's words.

Thinking back on it, she realises she ignored a lot that night.

 **oOoOoOo**

Anca had been a naïve child. She'd recalled only the advice about following and going with family blood, dismissing the tacked on urge to trust her insincts and the last tid-bit of worth-while advice.

She reasons, ten is a young age to fully understand that _great_ tagged onto a title should mean the person behind it should be pretty old, nevermind with _t_ _wo_ of them. The information flutters in one ear and out the other as a young, looking around 30, man appears on the circus's doorstep and smiles happily at her.

The man's eyes are burdened with the same stress her _tatic_ held in his strong frame, in his hulking, mammoth like gait, the same pain is etched into the man's face when her _mami_ 's face scrunched up whenever she talked about her _mami_ , Anca's _bunica_. Something about the stricking familiarity raises a feeling of calm in her ten year old self and she smiles back: even if there are tear teacks down her cheeks, her smile is dimmer than normal and her eyes are watery.

"William Cobb," he introduces himself as, crouching down on her level and doing a funny little bow that makes her giggle sadly. His smile is the kindest she's seen directed at her from someone she doesn't know. Maybe that makes her like him more too _and_ he's funny. "I'm your great-great-grandfather, Anca. I'm your _mami_ 's..." He hesitates here and probably decides that saying something like, _I'm your mami's tatic_ 's _tatic_ 's _tatic,_ is a bit weird even if she's in a bit too much shock to realise if he's lying, even if it's as clear as day. So he continues with, " _Fratele."_

" _Mami_ 's _fratele_?" She asks and Cobb nods and smiles. Her _mami_ 's brother had came for her, she'd been overjoyed at the time.

"Your _mami_ asked me to take care of you if anything ever happened. Would you like to come live with me, little Anca?"

That was the day she sealed her fate. _At least_ , she thinks later on, _at least I sealed it with a smile._ "Yes, please!"

When she does the maths nine years later she finds out Cobb is actually her _great-great-grandfather_ and there's no chance that her _mami_ knew the bastard. She's happy about that, not because she's found her _mami_ didn't know him but because that means she can kill him knowing her _mami_ never knew nor loved him.

 **oOoOoOo**

She'd never been the only Talon. Sure, she'd been _T_ _he Talon_ but that didn't mean she was a single force. Being _T_ _he Talon_ meant she was the head, the leader. She couldn't be a leader if she was alone. ( _Though_ , she huffs to herself, she had never been _The Talon_ , _it_ had. Red had been _The Talon._ )

The other Talon's preffered to roam the corridors of the Maze, fluctuating among the route of the statue, the training room, their tacky make-do living areas and the arena where the Courtiers sat high up in rows of red, silken seats, where they gave them their orders or where challenges for _The Talon_ 's mantle took place.

Rachel preferred to stick to the shadows and the high alocloves carved into the Maze's marble walls. She preffered to watch.

So she watched. She watched as the other Talons went about their buisness, not as mindless as they all let the Courtiers think.

They went about jobs: becoming medics, or learning a fellow companions mother tongue (god knew there were many different mother tongues mingling in their nest), or maybe playing games. The Courtiers (and Cobb, who thought much like them - arrogant and snide) believed it was wrong for the Talon's to play together, playing meaningless games like eye spy so the Talon's changed it up, saying they were practicing team building efforts. Going so far to only play tag and other stamina boosting or vision enhancing games when Cobb was around.

Some more caring Talons stood by and offered advice, gave help, smiled reasuringly in the corridors and even occasionally smuggled in alcohol for a few birthdays of the younger ones. But after a while, Cobb caught on, and when Cobb caught onto something you could be assured the Court would know within the hour. Eventually, all these self dubbed _helpers_ vanished to the coffins. They weren't woken up, deemed the worst punishment. When one was frozen to the core it left scars. Rachel knew, she'd been... curious for her first years, constantly toeing the line of rules. She'd stopped after they froze her for a week. Honestly, she didn't know what she would've done had they kept her in there longer.

There reaches a point where there's one _helper_ left. He's Romanian, like her, and he's old, over three centuries, leading him to want to help the young ones. He's kind and everyone likes him, (maybe not Cobb but then he doesn't like many).

His name is Horace Monook and after a while the Court realise he can hold power. And thus, in reaction towards the Talon's more flighty nature's, they name him a supervisor. Still a Talon but he is more like their guardian, where Cobb stands as their trainer.

His reception is grand and every Talon is buzzing (except for Cobb, although he does seem to respect Monook a tad more) to have a Talon up in high command, where Cobb, the Master and his closest Courtiers had stood before. They rejoice at the chance for a stake of power, no matter how much of a slither it really is.

 **oOoOoOo**

She tries to banish the memories of what she had to do when she'd failed a mission. She tries to forget what she'd had to do because she was starving and close to death.

There's a reason she's vegetarian in later years. She'll never forget that poor man.

 **oOoOoOo**

When she was 40, when she'd been with the Court for 30 years and had been under Cobb's careful eye for the entirety of that time, Rachel snapped. The stress came down and her personality split.

It started off as eye twitches everytime she killed. She'd be swinging her beautiful sword (sometimes daggers) down in a glinting arc, aimed to cut her targets head clean off, when she'd involuntarily blink. She had always been enraptured in the way a human's blood spurted when their head vanished and she'd always made it a point to watch but this time she'd blinked without meaning to.

To say she was dissapointed to miss the man's end was a truth, but he was one of many on her hit list. And when the involuntary blinking kept happening she'd went to a medic who'd shrugged and reconmended another few hours of sleep.

It molds into finger twitches next, her blade is aimed for the heart dead center one moment and the next it's a few millimetres off. It annoys her enough that when she misses she rips the target's heart out if only to hide the complete and utter shambles she'd made of the kill. The other Talons give her space during this time, thinking she's just getting annoyed at the lack of targets because for some reason around the start of spring, (when their target schedules are changed and updated), the target number drops and stays like that for a while. She can't say she's pleased at the space but she's not annoyed by it. Her eyes are twitching more and more by the day. She's becoming too paranoid to talk to the others.

One day, she wakes up and she's stiff all over. It puts her in a bad mood and everyone steers clear of her path. She's begun to attract the attention of Cobb and the Courtiers.

When her world dims she begins to panic. It's subtle, a hint of grey lurking in the sides of her vision constantly, so much that she thinks she's being stalked by the Batman even in the dusty confines of the Maze. She'd heard the rumours of how good the man was and she'd learnt the hard way to never underestimate _anyone._ Cobb had seen to that.

Within three weeks the grey has went from lurking in the sides to giving her headaches from the strain in her eys. Sometimes a black figure stands infront of her a distance away, at the end of the corridor sometimes, and each time she has to blink hard three times to regain focus. Or sometimes the shadows dart out in front of her, when she's alone or walking down the busy corridor. It irritates her beyind words.

Monook makes it clear everyone's concerned about her one bad week when she's had to sit down in the corridors five times, she's fainted twice and she's been told she sways from side to side quite a bit. She's too annoyed by her blurry vision to take his concerns seriously and she pushes him, and anyone else who tries to help, away.

She falls into a coma, one day, suddenly, scaring everyone. When she wakes up she's different. She's a new person.

She's not her anymore, more so, an _it. (A monster.)_

That is the decade _Red_ is born.

 **oOoOoOo**

They distance around it when it awakens. They claim they don't know the thing with red blood eyes that can change to the usual gold at a moments notice, but it knows, it sees the recognition in the other Talon's eyes when it feels something - _an urge, an unsatisfied whisper_ \- and does it, even if out of its character, may it be an action or a figure or phrase of speech. It sees their pain when they realise it is still there.

The _helper,_ Monook, is kind enough. But even it can see the pain in the man's eyes as he looks at it. Cobb is the same but he seems more angry, for taking away his 'niece'. It doesn't understand what he's talking about until something clicks, like a bridge in its head and a woman, broken and scarred, tells it what she thinks has happened. It continues on in the woman's place and decides to fufil the woman's full potential because it seems like it's going to be there for a while.

The other Talons begin to commonly call it Red because everytime it returns from a mission it comes back with claws dripping of red. It found it liked the name, very much so.

 **oOoOoOo**

It challeges _The Talon_ , currently recognised as William Cobb, more notably known as simply Cobb. Red challenges him for his throne, his rule becauae it's annoyed the way the younger ones keep coming back with arm length gashes in their stomachs and are expected to heal from them in preparation for the next days lesson. It's irritated how he demands so much, _too much_. (Because the Court changed the formula for their blood to someting weaker for the youngsters, so they could truely kill them if they hit them hard enough. So they could instil the true fear of death in them, to _control_ them.

It knows, _she_ knows, the younger ones know too.

Everyone knows.)

The fight is thrilling yet boring. Everyone gathers in the arena, Talon's seperated and forced to sit on one high seated tiered side, under strict commands to not interfere or move, towards the fight, while the Courtiers and the Master sat on the other, grander, side.

It's like a game when the Master whistles for the challenge to begin after his cup-bearer fills his glass with red wine. Red thinks it is fitting for such a momentuous occasion.

It swipes at Cobb, lunging at the man with brutal force and accuracy keeping its strikes aimed at the man's throat. Of course, he dodges easily, using the infamous _Talon_ speed to whip around behind it and deliver a cutting underknee kick. Red topples forward, catching itself in a handspring that it uses to its advantage to kick him away when he lunges. Cobb darts towards it, circling Red as it grins. Red fingers its daggers by its thigh sheaves and traces the man's movements as he circles it, baring its teeth in a silent promise.

It'll kill him.

They all know it.

It holds no sentiment for the weak.

He silently lunges, so quick Red frowns as it strains to keep track and see him. The only thing that keeps the sword from slicing through its neck is its cunning intincts that flare up in warning and force it to raise a blade to block the blur of silver light.

They both parry and block in ruthless attempts to get in hits while simultanesouly trying to outdo to other in terms of skill. Constantly, it finds itself being forced into upping its game whenever the blur of a blade skims too close to its neck for the woman's comfort.

Red's patience vanishes for the short game whenever Cobb hits it so hard it tumbles back and has to somersault to stay standing. Anger and irritation rising, it shoves the blade through the man's throat before anyone can blink.

If the Master likes the loser enough (though extremely rare) he'll freeze them in their coffin for an eternity. Barely a punishment at all compared to their failure. Red thinks the loser should die and it will happily accept death for such a thing, though its not sure the woman inside its head wants to die just yet. Of course, when _Cobb_ falls the Master is quick to announce he is freezing him but Red is too caught up in the alien feeling of glee at having won.

The game is over relatively quick and it finds itself frowning at the lack of fun, glee mixing in with it, _it feels weird,_ but the roar from the Talons behind it and the fast claps from the Courtiers break that thread of thought as it focuses in on its victory. Red can hear the woman thanking it for winning as it preens in the basking glory of being handed the mantle of _The Talon._

It rules now.

 **oOoOoOo**

Monook is standing outside its coffin when it returns from being given the copper infused adimantium talons, its true prize. Red's buzzing with the woman's joy but that quickly dulls and vanishes at the sad smile Monook gives it.

"Congratulations, my friend." He says, clapping it kindly on the shoulder in what the woman explains is a non-threatening gesture when its thoughts leap to hypersensitivity, readying a plan to strike the man down the quickest.

"I wish you luck, Red." And then Monook's gone, nothing but a whisp in the ever silent wind. It doesn't see him for a long, long time after that.

Years later, it thinks back on that memory and silently appologises as Red waits for the Bat to find it. The woman's been down here too long and it has a feeling in its gut that spells good bringings should it follow its instincts. There's a snipit of a memory from the woman as it thinks that, it smirks and repeats it aloud:

"Trust your instincts, not others good intentions, for they will keep you alive." Red hums, its talons tapping on its coffin's wooden lid. It's heard good intentions pave the road to hell, but that's false because it's been in hell for a while without _any_ good intentions making a road. It wants -no, _needs,_ it **needs** \- out. Red knows for a fact, _she_ is ready to come back. "That we shall." It says in jeer.

Its inhumane cackle makes the room feel colder than it is.

 **oOo NOTES oOo**

 **MAMI:** Mommy in Romanian. From Google Translate.

 **TATIC:** Daddy in Romanian. Also from GT (Google Translate).

 **BUNICA:** Grandma in Romanian. From GT.

 **FRATELE:** Brother in Romanian. Courtesy of GT.


End file.
